Fifteen
by hottesttrikeintown
Summary: Based on a short shot by Orion about the end of the world, depressing, ominos and as bland and ugly as gran... ok, not that ugly, but close. And remember- we support flash, not slash.
1. Fifteen

A/N: This was originaly a short story by an author called Orion and I addopted it. If you want to check it out (which I strongly sugest you do) then it's called Short Shots: Harry Potter. It's great, he's great. This fic is adopted from his shor shot by the same name.  
  
In conclusion, the charicters and places in the story aint mine. The idea isn't even by I just asked Orion and he said I could write a long version of 15.  
  
Fifteen  
  
The war that had ravaged the Wizarding world had been raging for seven years without any sign of relenting. And now it had come to this: a last desperate battle between an army of Deatheaters and those remaining loyal to Dumbledore and the Ministry. Countless wizards and witches fell defending their cause. Some of them shouted the name of their leader as they feel, others screamed. A small number fell silently, but the baulk of the dead wizarding community were dead before they fell, struck by the lethal Avada Kedavara.  
  
All the time more wizards and witches fell, some of them worked for the ministry, some were Aurors but others were ordinary people who were either conscripted to the army or volunteered.   
  
But all the time the leaders of both sides were nowhere to be seen.  
  
They were, in fact, miles away at the ancient sight of Stonehenge.  
  
"Put away your wand, Harry." Said Voldemort softly.  
  
"Put away your wand, Voldemort." Replied Harry with enough of a magical boost to imply a subtle Imperius curse. Voldemort resisted, and for a second the balance of power was equal before it fell to Voldemort. His eyes glowed coldly with triumph.   
  
"Put away your wand, Harry." He repeated the words melodiously.   
  
Harry obeyed soundlessly.  
  
Voldemort smiled a slow, sadistic smile. He knew he was in control, he always had. He wasn't going to underestimate him now. No, he had been underestimating the boy for twenty-three years.  
  
He was a wizard now, he could see it in Harry's eyes.  
  
"A duel perhaps, Harry? Between the leaders of the two sides."  
  
Harry's face remained stony and resolute. "To avenge my people."  
  
"So you are their leader?" Voldemort retaliated, not bothering to hide the hatred in his words.  
  
"They follow me Voldemort," spat Harry moving forward with every word, "because they believe in me. You rule your people because they fear you."  
  
Voldemort laughed softly "And I will win."  
  
His opponent paused for a second before drawing his wand from within the folds of his robes.  
  
Voldemort gripped his wand and approached Harry slowly.   
  
And as night approached the world shook and the fate of humanity was sealed.  
  
  
  
In all of Alexandra's eight years she had never seen anything so beautiful. The sun had set in a swirl of luminous colours. The pinks and oranges of the sun's light had mixed with the mauve of the lowest clouds. The horizon was streaked with scarlet.  
  
"Red sky at night, sailors delight." Murmured her mother stepping outside into the cold autumn breeze.  
  
"What's that mean mummy?"  
  
The woman smiled, "I don't know. It's just a saying."  
  
They turned back to the rapidly setting sun. Only minutes passed before the fiery sphere had dropped below the horizon.  
  
The young girl was oblivious to her mothers apprehension as she went back to playing with her dog. And why should she? She had little grasp of time and only vaguely knew of twilight, and anything she did know was far from a scientific reasoning.  
  
"Come inside now, Alex" said the girls mother anxiously.  
  
Alex's delicate face looked crestfallen, "But-"  
  
"Now." Replied her mother firmly as the ground shivered slightly beneath her feet.  
  
The girl obeyed sulkily. 


	2. Fourteen

A/N: Oh the joys of writing. Cheers to those who've been kind enough to review, not very many, granted, but thanks all the same.  
  
Thanks heaps, especially to Orion for (quiet literarily) giving me the idea for Fifteen because this a long version of Chapter 8 from Short Shots: Harry Potter.  
  
BTW, I am very aware that I've told this already but I'll say it again, just for the benefit of the tape: I really think you'll like his stories, you'll be doing humanity a favour if you check them out. There's a link to his stuff in my fave authors list.   
  
*nudges people encouragingly towards the active 'merryduffer' link at the top of the page*  
  
For me?  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: I didn't do a proper one before so I'll do it hear. I do not, cannot and will not own anything remotely close to the rights to Harry Potter. That is my fate. I will never own the rights themselves, a doggy photocopying of the rights, or even a ticket into a museum exhibit of the rights to Harry Potter. That is a privilege left the J.K and J.K alone. The books belong to J.K and whoever the hell prints the books.  
  
This idea belongs to Orion, who has kindly lent me the idea. I will return the idea to him when I have finished writing.  
  
I have a book in which I write the fanfic before typing it up, my mum bought it for me.  
  
Fourteen.  
  
Hermione's hand shook ever so slightly as she turned the pages of a heavy medical book. She knew it was hopeless, how couldn't it be?  
  
She had no idea how to save the boy, even if she did it wouldn't be enough; she was a doctor, not a miracle worker. If she was this kid's last hope he was as good as dead.  
  
Something at the base of Hermione's stomach fluttered and something deeper still nagged at her: it wouldn't matter if he died from cancer today or by a wand tomorrow, they were all going to die soon. Everyone knew that, even the muggles had the vague idea that something was wrong. Some of them were even coming close to the truth in the frantic predictions.  
  
Oh god, this was the end. She knew it.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and looked out the window of the small back room in the medical practise.  
  
The world had had less than half and hour of darkness before the pinkish tinge had emerged on the eastern horizon which signified the dawn of a new day.  
  
'Are you alright Hermione?' Asked Dean from the door.  
  
'I can't do anything to save him." She replied shakily.  
  
'Occupational hazard,' he said quietly, callousness mixing with compassion, 'you can't let it get to you.'  
  
Hermione shuddered, 'That doesn't make it any easier,'  
  
'We won't have to put up with it for much longer, I guess.'  
  
Hermione turned to face him, 'Are you scared?'  
  
Dean shrugged and moved to lean against the window sill, 'I've seen a lot of death, so I'm not scared. After all, I'm not leaving anyone behind am I?'  
  
'But can you accept your own death?'  
  
Once again Dean shrugged and stared out the window. He nudged Hermione.  
  
'You'll miss it.' He prompted.  
  
But she already had, because before 13 seconds had passed the sun had already risen and the end was a little bit closer.  
  
Draco Malfoy sat calmly in his manor-house watching the sun rise blandly and emotionlessly. Of course he had had doubts, a moment of regret, a flash of his conscience, but that had long gone by now. The time for cop-outs had long passed.  
  
Nevertheless, he did feal something as he watched the sky turn from midnight purple to orange. An image flashed through his mind, as clear and as tangible as a drop of water. I could have been a reality, if things had fallen different. It might have been a good life, or even a pleasant dream if Draco had let it stay a moment. Bust everyone knows one can't escape the future and no one can change the past. 


	3. Thirteen

AN: Yes, and 9 months later a hedious, deformed chapter was born, and Merry named it Thirteen and the world was horrified and all who looked upon it loathed to do so and forever cursed the name of Merry for they were scarred.  
  
Well, I can't say it's the chapter it's self which is so bad, it's more the crippling guilt that comes with the knawledge that it took me about a million years to write the damn thing. But I guess you guys don't get that, so for you the reading will be (for the most part) untainted, bar of course the horror of the writing itself, so if you can get over that, enjoy... and cupcakes for all who review.  
  
On that subject I must send *hugs* and *good vibes* to all the pretty little horsies who were kind enough to review the previous chappie- I'll ignore the fact that you all probably had some sort of obligation to the plot, either through knowing me or becuse you gave me the plot, and pretend it actully had something to do with my genuine writing talent *two thumbs up*  
  
And thus, to possibly the most depressing part of this tale, "The Dissy", as I like to call it... *ahem* I don't own the plot, or the charicters, or the computer, or the softwear, or the idea. I don't remember writing a great deal of this chappter, so there is a good chance that, while astral traveling, J.K.Rowling accidentaly bequothed to me her talent, then cruely snatched it back off me at the crucial moment, leaving me to wrap up lamely. Or I could have just been drunk, but that is what they said about Pollock and Blue Poles... which I don't own either...  
  
  
  
Thirteen  
  
"Sir?" whispered a pale desk clerk, poking her head around a heavy oak door tentatively.  
  
"Yes, what is it Jane," Snapped Cornelius Fudge in a warning tone. The Minister did not appreciate being interrupted at the best of times, but when he had an international magical crisis on his hands... really Jane seemed to be losing her touch lately.  
  
"This just came through from Scotland," said the desk clerk, approaching the Minister and handing him a curling piece of parchment over his scattered desk, her left eye twitching involuntary as the Minister took the parchment handed to him.   
  
Fudge squirmed uncomfortably at her gesture, Jane, as a rule, was somewhat detached, that is after all why the Minister had hired her. Usually she was effective and never asked questions, a quality that was ever welcomed in Ministry officials, but on this occasion she was anything but the composed middle aged lady Fudge had hired.  
  
"Is anything the matter Jane?" The Minster asked, voice sharp with annoyance.  
  
In reply Janes eye twitched once again and her face took a ruthless stab at donning a confident smile. "I'm not sure Minister, is there?"   
  
Fudge cringed and his eyes strayed to the parchment Jane had just handed to him. Almost at once, all trace of annoyance drained from his face, he leaded back in his chair and motioned for Jane to sit down across from him. She did so nervously and studied his face before voicing the question itching at her mind.  
  
"It's not- it isn't about... the situation is it?" she asked timidly.  
  
Fudge bowed his head, "It is." He said cautiously.  
  
Jane's eye gave a particularly violent twitch, sending a shudder through her entire body.  
  
"Schedule an immediate press conference," Fudge said after a second.  
  
Jane nodded and scribble a note in a thick, black notebook, "What should I tell them?"  
  
"That both Harry Potter and the Dark Lord are dead." Replied Fudge calmly.  
  
Jane hesitated for a second, taken aback at this information, "Right." She said faintly before rising to leave the room.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
Such an hour had not been seen since 22 years prior when the Dark Lord had been defeated for the first time. Owls flew frantically through the air, wanting nothing more than to stop themselves from catapulting into one another. The sun, as briefly as it hung in the pale sky, was blotted out by a flood of feathers and parchment. Some owls dipped down onto the muggle streets laid out bellow then and dropped their letters before flying back to the post office.   
  
However the mind of a muggle would continue to ignore the magical community, refusing to accept magical information for anything more than a weird group of Rastafarians.   
  
Their minds methodically rationalised events, making excuses until, finally, the sponges of their ignorance could absorb no more and the muggle in question would, quite simply, go insane.  
  
However, try as they might, even the most dim-witted of muggles could not ignore the irrational behaviour of the sun over the last few hours.  
  
People in cloaks? Well, acceptance of fanatic religious cults was quite fashionable these days.   
  
And the owls? Well that was just a symptom of the strangely short days the world had being experiencing lately.   
  
Of course, if anyone was to question the cause of these dramatically short days, the chances were they'd start foaming at the mouth.  
  
After all, some things can be ignored, but the sun setting on the hour every hour and rising at half past the very same hour? That was too much to handle.  
  
Muggles were starting to break through all magical boundaries, they were seeing the truth. Nobody got halfway to work then rushed home inexplicably if they happened to pass a particularly large group of anti-muggle shielded wizards. Instead they drove past in wonder, seeing for the first time wheat their brain had not been allowed to register their whole lives.  
  
One by one the defences of the wizarding world failed. Bit by bit muggles began to understand their inklings of being part of something bigger. They began to theorise about magical communities and their role in the neat little muggle universe.   
  
For the first time in resent history muggles were perceiving a world without boundaries. They were doing it long before the idea of an Awakening had even occurred to the Minister for Magic.  
  
- - - - - - -   
  
A quarte of an hour and half a bottle of Scotch before the scheduled kick off of the press conference Jane entered the Ministers Office, and for the umpteenth time that day her blood was about to boil over.   
  
"Sirs!" she yelled impatiently, "I must insist you pay attention, as I am the only person either of you are going to receive this information from I should hope you listen to it." She made absolutely sure that she had both Fudge's and Professor Dumbledore's attention before continuing, "I have heard, from more than one abusive howler, that muggles are starting to suspect certain aspects of our community. In fact several witches have been approached by a band of muggles and asked if they belonged to the 'powerful and controlling coven of secrecy', doubtless that is referring in some way to us? " She interrogated  
  
Dumbledore raise a tired eyebrow, "That sounds like allot more than a suspicion, in fact it closely resembles what I would call a realisation. If I didn't know better, which I do not, I would say our community has been discovered at long last." He said amusedly.  
  
Jane shot him a stiff, fussy look, "This is nothing to be taken lightly, Professor."  
  
"No, indeed, and I would never dream of taking it lightly." Dumbledore exclaimed  
  
"Albus, hear, is very fond of his belief in muggle intelligence." Fudge explained to Jane in the loud slow voice adopted only to speak to one's dear, deaf, dotty grandpa.  
  
Jane sat down in a chair next to Dumbledore and tapped her black notebook imploringly, "People are being seen, muggles are able to walk past a gathering of fully magically cloaked wizards and engage in a conversation. The wizards would have been totally invisible three days ago.. hours ago, oh whatever you want to call it the fact still remains that now the magic is..." she trailed off, her face clearly displaying her fears. "Muggles have become immune to our anti-muggle magic."  
  
Fudge started involuntary, shocked by this revelation.  
  
"Y-you you mean our magic is broken?" He stuttered.  
  
"Well, I don't know." Replied Jane, "I don't think so, I think the magic's still there, the muggles just aren't paying attention anymore, they have the strength to see through it."  
  
"Strength?" Exploded Cornelius pacing around the room, panic stricken, "Strength? Where from? Why? How can it be?" He stopped as a sudden and horrible thought hit him.  
  
"It isn't You-Know-Who is it? He didn't do this did he?"  
  
"Come now, Cornelius." Said Dumbledore soothingly, "Calm down, Voldemort is dead, we have nothing to worry about."  
  
Jane snorted with uncharacteristic indignity, "I mean really," she said, half to herself, "we're all going to die soon so I may as well get it all out into the open."  
  
She hesitated momentarily, but Dumbledore motioned for her to continue, mild interest brimming in his movement.  
  
"Well Voldemort may be dead, true, but so is Harry Potter, and, well… quite frankly Cornelius Fudge hasn't lead anything grander than drivelling musicians for a long time. You think you taste victory? What you taste is defeat, either lead Wizards and Witches into the muggle world and bid them join our fight or continue to underestimate them and when they realise, which they are already starting to, they'll turn against us."  
  
The Minister sat heavily in his chair with his head bowed for a few beats.  
  
When he met his companions eyes again it was through a foggy fear, "How can you be sure they'll accept us?"  
  
Jane leant forward urgently, "Minister, the world is spinning twenty-four times faster than what is considered normal, give it, twelve, thirteen more of these hours and the Earths molten core will have grown by seven per cent, that's enough to raise the ocean temperature by five Degrees Celsius. Polar icecaps will melt, coastal cities will flood marine life will die-"  
  
She stoped herself from voicing the next logical step. She hardly needed to, the deafening silence that followed spoke for itself.   
  
"I'll propose it to the Ministers from other countries, shall I?" Sighed Cornelius.  
  
"There's no need." Replied Jane with a surprising lack of respect in her voice, she rose from her chair and placed a wad of parchment in front of her boss. "They've already thought of it.   
  
"What's this?" demanded Cornelius stupidly, fingering the paper fearfully.  
  
"An official move to start an Awakening: to reveal ourselves to the muggle community, it comes with the signature of the magical leader of every Country, Federation and Union, bar yours. It arrived by owl just before I came in to see you. I trust you'll sign it before the Press Conference, it's in, 5 minutes." She said glancing at her wrist watch, "Merlin, time really flies in anticipation of the end of the world, doesn't it."  
  
The woman's voice was dry and accusing, much like the rest of the magical community's.   
  
--------  
  
I told you it was bad... but it was bad and short, and so you decided to read it, in your folly, and now you loath it, and are scarred, and curse the name Merry.  
  
But I still don't own it. 


End file.
